


Little Firefly

by reinien (orphan_account)



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Outer Senshi Family, Recovery, Sailor Moon Classic, Sailor Moon Crystal, Sailor Moon Manga, Sailor Moon R, Sailor Moon S, outers, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 17:31:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16877190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/reinien
Summary: Hotaru remembers and learns to forgive.Haruka remembers and tried to forget.





	Little Firefly

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this over a year ago and forgot about it. Once an angsty little bitch, always an angsty little bitch.

The gurney sped through the desolate halls, only two faceless nurses and the surgeon there to guide the way. Michiru was barely a foot behind them the whole time, her shoes slapping against the tile impending like a countdown, or a clock, a bomb, a heart. Haruka’s weakly fluttering pulse. 

There was the room, 178- floor 6- Critical care ward. 

“Calling the anaesthesiologist, and blood transfusion, stitches…” The doctor panted into the microphone at his hip. There was more, but Michiru didn’t hear it because at that moment when the door had slid closed and the stretcher bumped into the far wall- Haruka awoke. 

“Michi…” Haruka’s voice was pathetically weak, barely able to finish the word before crying out upon realisation of where they were. Her eyes were bloodshot and eyelashes sticking from the residue of tears lingering beneath. All the blood was gone from her complexion, pale as an eggshell yet jaw smattered with gore. At her side, two arms twitched upward, only to find that they were strapped to the bed, tape and cotton balls bulging through mounds of gauze around each wrist. Still, vibrant spots of blood dotted the outside and soaked through the sheet draped over her body. 

Michiru cupped a hand over her mouth to disguise the sob as she rushed to her girlfriend's side. Haruka thrashed, face going impossibly paler, green eyes wider than humanly possible as she threw her head back with a strained scream. She looked wild- far past the volatile stage and now… full of rage, yet in such a delicate state. Like a lion behind a thin layer of glass. 

“Haruka, I didn’t think you would actually… Oh stars, Ruka, you’ve got to cooperate with the doctors. Just calm-” 

“NO!” Her screech shattered the frenzied air. Michiru’s hands jumped to the blonde’s floundering shoulders, brushing over them and pinning them to the springy mattress. Haruka’s eyes darted over the ceiling, her whole body shuddering as she threw her head back into the pillow with a muffled grunt. “PLEASE! JUST LET ME GO! I WASN'T MEANT TO SURVIVE THIS! Please…” Suddenly, her crazed emeralds met Michiru’s flooding teals. Haruka stilled. 

“I’ll be here, the whole time. Yes, thank you, thank you. It’s alright, if you don't do this to save yourself, do it to save me.” Michiru felt her throat swell uncomfortably as she looked into the eyes that were anything but lifeless. 

“This is... how it was supposed... to be.” Haruka whimpered. Each breath was a struggle. It wasn’t hard to see the way her chest heaved to suck in a ragged clot of air- as if it were a chore. Michiru wasn’t sure whose tears were who’s. “Please…” She closed her eyes. “Just let me be free.” 

“Miss Kaioh,” Somebody shoved her from behind, the anaesthesiologist butting through to reach the headboard. Michiru staggered to the side as a nurse carting a couple bags of type B- blood glided to hook up to the rod attached to the edge. Haruka began to looked panicked again, attempting to sit up through the restraints- the pools of red on the bandages grew. 

“MICHIRU! DON'T LET THEM! NO! PLEASE!” The guttural protests were surprisingly forceful for the amount of blood she had lost so far. She managed to pry her upper body from the stretcher, awkwardly upright with forearms still firmly fastened to the table. Michiru couldn't tear her eyes away, couldn’t detach herself from the terrified screams- those horrified eyes- swelling daubs of crimson… She darted between two bustling doctors and squeezed to the side, crouching on the floor and scrabbling at her frail fingers poking from beneath the bandages. 

The anaesthesiologist yanked the blanket from the upper part of her body, exposing an upper shoulder. Rapidly, they swabbed off a section, missing most of the bare skin due to Haruka’s writhing, and plunged the needle beneath the surface. 

It was a couple of seconds as Michiru’s vision fuzzed over from tears, yet she felt Haruka’s muscles become taut as the anaesthesia began to take effect. Blinking, her vision cleared to reveal Haruka- still partially propped up, yet becoming quite still. Her head began to bob into her chest, a shadow falling over her face as she realised she was being put under. Those dulling emeralds flickered in Michiru’s direction just as she began to sway, fingers growing cold to the touch. 

“Over here the water is bitter.” Haruka murmured, lean body sagging into the pillow against her will. She was still fighting the drug, neck tendons loosening and tightening rhythmically as her eyelids began to sink. 

“Ruka,” Michiru murmured, pressing her lips to the icy knuckles. 

There was a tiny giggle. “Over there the water is sweet…” 

Though her eyes were mostly closed as she collapsed backwards, Michiru knew there was still a sliver of consciousness that lingered in her brain- aware of their entwined fingers- Michiru’s tears staining her new blouse- and of the doctors peeling off clothes and shouting to get out and no visitors during the operation!

Or maybe not. 

********************************************************************************************************

Within a couple minutes, Michiru found herself propped against the depressing, beige and white hallway. Sterile and overwhelming with scent of hand sanitizer only added to the levels of disbelief and fear. She knew if her paints could be allowed to brush over these bare walls for only a couple minutes, it would be enough to halve the fear in two. 

Within the room, there was not a single noise- not that she could hear anyway. Michiru wished there was some way of knowing about Haruka- the beat of her pulse steady against her arm and those heavy breaths that set in right before falling asleep. That was what she wished for. The warmth as they held one another, the spider-silk fringe bowing untidily over her brow. The awkward smile that grew as they kissed each other until it was more laughter than anything. Haruka deserved to survive. Needed to survive. But not only that, she needed to live. 

That was the last though Michiru knew before exhaustion overpowered all senses.

 

********************************************************************************************************

 

The artist could hear them from the other room, a child’s sweet hum synchronising with another voice- slightly off key, yet beautiful all the same. 

“Ho, ho, fireflies come!  
Over there the water is bitter  
Over here the water is sweet  
Ho, ho, fireflies come!  
Ho, ho, come by the mountain road!

The Papa of the fireflies are rich  
It's natural, their glittering backs,  
Ho, ho, fireflies come!  
Ho, ho, come by the mountain road.

At daytime, behind leaves with dew,  
At night, high up like a lantern,  
If it goes up to heaven  
It will be kidnapped by swallows.”

A pause was soon filled with the older singer’s playful growl heard beneath a bout of hysterical giggles. The artist across the hall could imagine it clearly, her girlfriend sweeping across the room in melodramatic arm flaps, the eight-year old pouncing on the bed with a toothy grin. One more ferocious caw was heard, along with the mattress tossing noisily as the smaller child sprang onto her Papa’s back. 

“Alright, it bedtime. Your Michiru Mama won’t be happy.” A husky voice began, the little girl’s laughter dying. She began to protest, but the older woman assaulted her with tickles before plopping her in bed. 

“But Haruka Papa! We haven’t finished the song!” Came a whine, yet she sounded too tired to be disappointed. A massive yawn interrupted her pout.

“I kinda like that as the ending.” A chuckle followed, along with the faint click of the light switch. “Ho ho my little firefly… glow bright tonight.”

 

********************************************************************************************************

There was a whimper from the other side of the bed, causing the artist’s eyes to flutter open. 

She was facing the other direction, tufts of blonde hair sticking out from where the blanket cover most of her body. After giving a slight shiver, the pianist’s head twisted restlessly until one viridescent eye could be seen, staring sharply at the ceiling. After a couple seconds, there was another shift of the sheets as she drew her legs up. 

“Ruka,” The artist allowed her hand to creep out of the sheets, grappling in the dark and gracing the cold skin on her girlfriend’s back. 

“Sorry Michi.” Her voice sounded slightly strangled compared to the eloquent speech of the latter. “I was just thinking about Hotaru.” The aqua haired girl licked her lips, sculpted eyebrows drawing together. 

“What about?” 

“We were going to murder her. No, I was going to murder her. She can’t even remember that now.” 

The violinist’s eyes became gelid at the memory, then placid again as the racer’s hand quivered before squeezing her slender fingers even tighter. She propped herself up on an elbow, tracing soothing circles into the inside of her girlfriend's wrist. 

“That’s not true. We wanted to kill Mistress 9 and the Death Busters to save the earth, not our Hotaru. Never our Hotaru.” 

Her fingernail moved over the tense ridges of veins beneath her skin, but it wasn’t just beneath her skin- but on the outside as well. Stippled ridges, scabs, and broken skin lining the inside of her arm. 

“Haruka?” Michiru intoned, her voice shaking as she sat up, gingerly uncovering the blonde's arm from beneath the sheets. She didn’t get the chance, because at that moment, she heard a sob resound throughout the bedroom. Snapping to attention, the racer leapt from the bed with one arm cradling the other. Her form was only a blur of white against the darkness as she staggered out of the room before the aqua even had the chance to get out of bed. 

“We don’t deserve her, she doesn’t deserve us. I’m a murderer!” She shrieked weakly. “How can you still pretend like that…” 

Then it occurred to the violinist like an icy cold stab to the heart. Those weren't battle scars. 

She rolled blindly from the tangled mess of sheets, thrusting the door open with all her might only to see a shard of light shining from beneath the bathroom door. A cry of pain from the inside interrupted the silence. 

“Haruka!” The artist tried the handle- locked. 

“Please don’t try to stop me. If you love me, you wouldn’t…” 

As she frantically searched all her pockets and hair for a bobby pin to pick the lock, a faint voice could be heard from the room to the left. 

Hotaru’s. Fluid and sleepy sounding, her distantly sweet song reached Michiru Kaioh’s frantic mind with eerie precision.

“Ho, ho, fireflies come!  
Over there the water is bitter,  
Ho, ho, fireflies come!  
Over here the water is sweet…” 

 

********************************************************************************************************

“-Miss… I’m afraid that…check in… Miss Kaioh…up.” 

Michiru’s head smacked into wall, consciousness bulldozing through her dreams. The fluorescent lights of the hallway were too bright, violating and sterile for her darkness accustomed mind. Though everything was blurred by the crust of tears and residue of sleep, she could make out the faint form of a nurse crouched over imposingly. Initial confusion wearing off, she immediately composed herself the best she could while found sleeping on the floor, brushing fingers through her aqua curls while furiously clearing her eyes. 

“Excuse me?” Michiru questioned curtly, vision flicking to the firmly closed door that Haruka would still be inside. The nurse knotted her lips into a thin, white line and cocked her head over-politely. 

“You are waiting for room 178 I assume?” 

“Yes.” Michiru choked, biting her lip in a way she hoped looked expectant. 

“Waiting in the hallway is not permitted while surgery is in session. Please make your way to the front desk and check in with your relation to the patient and if you have the means, deal with payment and forthcoming healthcare services. There is a waiting room nearby that will accommodate you.” 

She sucked in a sharp breath, nostrils flaring indignantly at the tone used. ‘Patient.’ As if everything was as normal, as if this was an everyday occurrence, as if she was a faceless being deserving everything she got. Her name was Haruka Tenoh, Guardian of the Heavens, Soldier of Flight, Princess of Uranus, Sailor Guardian of the Outer Solar System, Sailor Uranus- Michiru Kaioh’s- Sailor Neptune of the Sea and Embrace- her lover. How dare this woman address her so uncaringly. 

“Of course.” She replied briskly- Michiru would have accepted a battle of manners at any given time. Except now. Not now. But before she even had time to sit up fully, the handle to door 178 rotated, a doctor emerging clad in mostly white with a sweaty mask and cap obscuring most of his features. Just as the door was closing, she could have sworn she spotted a flash of the bed and a tassel of blonde hair stained in blood. Then it was gone. 

“Excuse me, doctor,” Michiru was standing in a flash, smoothing over her skirt and sculpting a persuasively simpering smile. The Doctor’s eyebrows rose past the elastic lining of the cap as he observed her. 

“Are you Michiru Kaioh, the violinist?” He questioned in a withering voice, tugging the mask down to get a better view. He was a fairly squat man, around the same height as herself and not at all thin. A scruff of a beard crept up to greying sideburns, disappearing at the expanding bald patch on either side of his head. A mole stuck to the perimeter of his smile, above a wrinkled lip and beneath his nose which held an entire swath of hair in the jellybean-shaped nostrils. While not appearing particularly attractive, he did hold a saccharine air allowing the situation to warm.

The aqua haired girl had to take a moment to blink, rearranging her mind to comprehend the common question. “Yes.” She answered aloofly. “How is Haruka? Eh… Tenoh.” Saying her name was far less graceful than expected, it stung in her throat and tasted like iron. Michiru internally cringed, biting back the swell in the back of her throat. 

His expression returned to its stony neutral, setting a grim atmosphere over the already cold tone. “Mrs. Ogata, you are dismissed.” 

The nurse- who was still standing there to the violinist’s dismay- gave a brief bow and pattered down the echoing hallway, leaving the two in silence for mere seconds.  
“Since you appear a close friend, I will allow you to see her, although I do recommend registering into our system before advancing much farther.” 

A whirl of thoughts and emotions bombarded Michiru’s brain- the excitement and mutual fear clouding most of the rest although confusion definitely was present. Her heart leapt up and was somehow lodged in the base of her throat, inhales speeding to accommodate the shallow breaths. With a discreet gulp, she rocked on her heels and prepared herself. The doctor- his name tag reading ‘Yagami Eizo’ turned to enter, his broad body bulkily shuffling through the door while Michiru slipped inside. 

No. So much was wrong with this situation, too much, beyond much. No. 

Haruka was lying prostrate on the hospital bed- clad in a white hospital gown and covered mostly in a blanket or various devices. The wraps bound down both arms although the bandages were past shoulder length on the left arm, a removable cast holding most of the gauze in place. Fingertips and a section of palm was partially visible, although tape connected an IV to the suffused skin, the red tube leading to a bag of blood hanging next to the heart monitor. Thankfully, it kept a steady pace with her breathing, flickering mountains of neon jutting upward- weak, yet steady. Secured over her mouth and nose was a gas mask, hiding her handsome lips and flawless nose- yet those eyes- even closed, were unmistakably Haruka’s. 

Michiru felt her hands begin to raise to her mouth, but stopped them along with the tears that threatened. It was not the time to be tearful and weak. How was this different from the times when they had been hurt in battle? There had been worse injuries than this. Well, maybe not. But they were fairly close to what she was seeing now. So what was different? 

Moving to the far side of the bed, she found it difficult to bring herself to look at Haruka. In fact, it didn’t even feel like Haruka- only a sterile, shell version- as if it were a corpse. Tentatively, she crept and hand forward and laid it over the bare fingers, hating the way they felt like wax- clammy, stiff, and pale. 

“There was quite a bit of blood loss, but we managed to level her vitals in time. It was miraculous how long she managed to stay conscious.” The doctor marvelled, drawing up a schedule tab on the computer and a chart in another. “We will probably wake her sometime late morning, and see how she fares. A psychiatric appointment will be scheduled as soon as all signs point to recovery.” 

Michiru blanched. “She might not recover?” Her voice came out more taut than expected, penetrating to even her own ear. Glancing back at the heart monitor for reassurance, her fingers squeezed the icy hand tighter. 

“There’s always the off chance. At this point, around 65% chance, but the odds have been climbing and should reach around 70% by morning. That’s assuming we see signs of a healing process begin to repair the internal injuries as well as-” 

“Internal injuries?” Michiru repeated tremulously. 

“Severe bruising around the calves. They will surely heal, although it can unbalance the circulation.” The doctor explained darkly. “I will send a check in assistant to this room, unless you would rather go downstairs. Close friend I assume?” 

Pinching her lips, Michiru gave a tight nod, turning her gaze back to Haruka who now was pale enough to bend in with the sheet and walls. “Very close.”

The doctor made no comment, not noticing the sarcasm lacing her words and judgment shot into the glare aimed for him. Dr. Eizo Yagami barely spared either Haruka nor Michiru a glance as he left the room, ensuring that a check in assistant would be there shortly. 

And all was still.

The silence he left behind was far less chaotic, an undertone that could not be specified yet far less artificial. In this quiet moment, it was so much easier to block out the beeping of the heart monitor, replace the mask with Haruka’s sunrise of a smile. Combing fingers through her closely shorn locks, the image overlapped seamlessly, the blood crusted hair vanishing along with the worried brow. Lines of stress Michiru hadn’t even noticed before had dissolved, tragic beauty surfacing like water over honey. And she looked peaceful.

As Michiru stared blankly past her unconscious lover, everything was opus perfection. 

“Ho ho, fireflies come! Ho ho, come by the mountain road…”

 

********************************************************************************************************

 

Setsuna was called first thing in the morning for an update. 

While living in the same house, she still didn’t know exactly what had happened that night. There had been a shriek from the upper story- Michiru. Setsuna had tripped up the stairs, wide awake and blinking furiously to get the stain of computer light out of her vision. The aqua haired girl was half naked, beating her fists against the bathroom door and half sobbing, shoving a broken bobby pin through the lock. Still, not knowing what was going on, Setsuna had snatched the pin from her hands and scrabbled at the handle, opening the door to see a sight too gory for even the warrior of time. Her wrists slashed. A jagged grin. One broken razor slicing her palm. Blank eyes fluttering horrifically. A leg twitching in attempt to evade their help. And blood. Pools- no rivers- no waterfalls of blood. Everywhere. 

She barely remembered calling the paramedics. Shouting their address over Michiru’s scream of agony. Sirens in the distance, then right outside the door. Within two minutes, they were gone, along with Haruka- leaving a bloodied trail behind, and Michiru- taking the howls and tears. 

Only a stunned Setsuna and confused Hotaru were left in its wake. 

“Did another Daimon come and hurt Haruka Papa and Michiru Mama?” The small girl had asked, tears quivering of the tips of her lashes. 

“No, Hime-chan.” 

“Did Michiru Mama hurt Haruka Papa?” 

“No, no, no.” Setsuna had reassured. “I’ll call Michiru in the morning and get the details. Haruka is probably being healed at this very moment, she’ll get better, don’t worry.” 

Still, Hotaru’s violet eyes were streaming, fingers trembling as she tugged on Setsuna’s robe. The time senshi’s hands felt as cold as her heart as she carried Hotaru into the downstairs bedroom. The only place where the scent of blood didn’t assault their nostrils and the echoes of the violinist’s concerto of screams were silent. 

********************************************************************************************************

“Mhmm… Alright... Hime-chan probably shouldn’t… No, I think it would worsen the situation… You should wait till she says something… Ten fifteen you say?… Calm down Michiru, this isn’t like you to worry so. She’s in good hands… I’m aware, yes. Bye.” 

Setsuna stared at the phone for a second before ending the call, the beep sounding too final- as if it were a permanent separation. Michiru had sounded so much better than she had last night in the 3:27 call. Hopefully she had gotten some sleep. Licking her lips, Setsuna knelt low to where Hotaru was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping slowly on her miso soup and staring blankly across the table where Haruka usually sat. 

“Haruka’s alright. They got her to the hospital just in time and is patched right up. In fact, they're even gonna try to wake her up soon.” Hotaru sat up straighter, still not taking her eyes from the chair although appearing as if a weight had been taken from her thin shoulders. Setsuna forced a grin, hooking an arm around the smaller girl’s body to embrace, stoking Hotaru’s silky black hair and burying her chin in the crook of her neck.

“What happened?” Hime-chan’s thin, and slightly muffled voice asked. 

Setsuna sucked in a slow breath, cherry red orbs meeting deep plum ones. “She was just having a hard time and had an accident, that's all.” Something changed between her tone and the previous one, sparking a suspicious spark in Hotaru’s eye. Turning away slowly, the little girl stared at the empty seat of Michiru and Haruka’s chairs. The automatic image of Haruka slumped over and wrapped up in a blanket, coffee steam blurring her sagging eyes- Michiru, already showered and eyes alight with her enticingly serene energy, glaring in disdain at the coffee maker’s scent as she sipped green tea. Hotaru was seeing the same thing, Setsuna knew. The ghost of the scene was reflected in her mournful expression. 

“I’m starting to remember, Setsuna Mama.”

Hotaru turned slowly towards the petrified time senshi, cocking her head and releasing a somber smile.

“Don’t worry. I forgive you.” 

********************************************************************************************************

 

Michiru tried not to pace outside the door, although it was one of her more difficult endeavours. Within five minutes of intermittent nervous marches from one end of the waiting room to another, she had finally decided: 

There was no way they could let Haruka see Hotaru. 

The little hime-chan was just beginning her first normal rebirth, they couldn’t take this rare happiness away from her so soon. Plus, seeing her Papa in such a state would be almost as traumatic for Haruka as it was for the little girl. Hotaru was the only known reason she had attempted suicide in the first place, and while she had no reason to be blamed for her past life- not that she had even done anything wrong- it would be the last thing from healing to see her distraught. Both their safety was hanging on a thin line, and it would be painful, confusing and devastating if it twisted even once in the wrong direction. 

A faint whine was heard, and Michiru realised it was her stomach, yet before there was even time for her to consider getting a snack, a voice over the speakers reverberated throughout the whole room. 

“Kaioh Michiru requested for room 178.”  
She almost leapt through the entryway, the only drop left of dignity dying with every step. Haruka. Haruka. Haruka. Haruka. Was the only resonating word- the only clarity in the fading vision of reality. 

“Michiru!” Came a familiar voice from behind. Supple, but with an undertone of clemency only mothers could replicate- Setsuna. 

The aqua haired girl almost tripped over her own feet, something she hadn’t done since the third year of elementary school during basketball in PE. Eyebrows leaping to attention, vision heightening as they widened, she flipped around to see the time senshi bustling over the stretch of hall- expression placid as ever yet the state of the rest of body was the truth. It was evident she hadn’t showered since yesterday, a sheen of grease collecting near her ears and the crown of her head along with purple half moons beneath each eye. Even her beautiful, tawny skin appeared slightly greyer than usual. Sprinting at her side was Hotaru, a toothy grin stretching across her plump cheeks and eyes shining with delight as she pounced onto Michiru. The two, Hotaru clinging desperately to the violinist's waist, stumbled back into the wall where they collapsed. 

“Michiru Mama!” The smaller girl shouted through the clinical silence. She hugged impossibly tighter, burying her face in Michiru’s stomach. Allowing a tight lipped smile after recovering from the blow, the older of the two squeezed back. 

“I have reasons, Michiru.” Setsuna equalled the glare, expression becoming benevolent again as Hotaru glanced back. “I’ll explain later.” 

“No, Sets.” Michiru countered, standing up slowly. “I won’t allow it.” 

Hotaru peered questioningly at both her mamas, fiddling with the hem of her shirt in nervousness. 

“Ask her then, if you think you know her so well.” Setsuna’s voice was not dominating in any sort, unlike the opponent’s ready tone. Michiru straightened her back, falling into the default sophisticated stance- both hands clasped in front and neutral expression that gave away no irritation yet not an ounce of sympathy. She turned decisively and marched towards the elevator, a surprised Setsuna and hyperactive seven year old following swiftly behind. Michiru pursed her lips thoughtfully, a chilly smile curling at the corners. 

“I think you’ll be surprised.” 

********************************************************************************************************

There was only the one doctor in the room when Michiru entered, a seemingly infinitesimal amount compared to what should be. There should be doctors from all over the world, specialists, surgeons, psychiatrists, and nurses buzzing around to put the most important person in the galaxy under the utmost care. Yet there was only this smarmy, unshaven man, typing away at the computer and switching dials as if he had better things to be doing at the moment. He hardly seemed to have registered the violinist entering the room. 

Michiru bit her lip at the sight of Haruka- familiar from the last night spent at her side yet jarring at the same time. Still, in the same position as last seen, bandaged arms lying atop the thin sheet and lengthy legs within six inches of sticking off the bed. The only difference was the mask no longer covered her mouth and nose. Her face was forced, acting peaceful, but only truly neutral compared to her usually expressive composure. 

“She’ll be on life support for only another day or so, but the healing has accelerated far past average.” The doctor recited. Michiru knew that would be the senshi physical repair system setting in, as long as they were either transformed, or their transformation stick was near, they would recover at least twice the speed of an average human. Moving over to the chair that was in the same spot from the seemingly infinite night, she plopped exhaustedly, watching intently for any sign of consciousness. “Her clothes are in the cabinet against the far wall. If allowed, we will have a cleaning service take care of it.” The doctor droned.

Michiru felt a bubble of irrational envy bob to the surface as the idea of anybody besides her seeing Haruka naked. It quickly diminished after she curtly nodded, grasping the ends of the runner’s fingers and rubbing in attempt to warm their icy circulation. Faintly, she could have sworn it squeezed back, weakly and almost imperceptibly so- yet a definite force besides her own pushing their flesh together. Her eyes lit up, nearly jumping from the uncushioned seat faster than a blink. 

Or to be more specific, a flutter of an eye. 

“Haruka…” Michiru murmured, close enough to sense the slight quickening of the unconscious woman’s breath against her cheek. For a couple seconds, the change was completely unnoticeable, even the heart monitor falling back into its usual pace. Yet just as Michiru was about to take a seat again, she spotted a smudge of teal fall into place between both translucent eyelids, lashes quaking before slowly rising. 

Michiru’s entire visage brightened considerably, joy flooding through her heart faster than the concern could reach as she stared into Haruka’s eyes… but… they didn’t even look like them. Michiru knew every inch of her face, every idiosyncrasy, perfection, angle, shade and illumination gracing that beautiful face- but this was hardly her.

Dead.

Nothing seemed to register in those eyes, its usual shine had disappeared along with any form of recognition. It was a rare time those lips had been seen without a grin crookedly sketched, or even the painful knot of frustration, maybe a flash of teeth as she winced, or the tiny wrinkle in her nose and brow when something irritating and unpleasant was imminent. Now, there was nothing, not even a ghost, or sadness- just a blank canvas- a greying canvas of skin. 

As Michiru stared, disconcerted at her girlfriend, the doctor seemed to comprehend the situation.

“It’s always like that after they wake up, the anaesthesia will wear off enough soon.” From her peripherals, he gave a nonchalant wave of the hand, as if not seeing the lifeless body lying in this very room. Vaguely, his blurred body moved from the line of sight and returned with a pile of bloodies clothes. The doctor momentarily left the room. 

Michiru debated, mind twisting uncomfortably in ways that didn’t seem natural. It almost felt as if she was separate beings, analysing her position from backstage. 

She’s not dead, it's ridiculous to cry. You should be glad she woke up!

It's like a corpse, something is wrong, this isn’t right.

Calm, you need to calm down and help the poor thing wake up naturally. What do you think you're doing besides being selfish?

No. No. No. It's like a nightmare. Haruka is dead. A shell. Nothing. Gone. Dead. No. No. No. This can’t be. 

But reality crashed over like an ocean tide, jerking the sea senshi back to her senses. Blinking, she brushed back some of Haruka’s downy bangs caressing each cheekbone, the other hand creeping beneath her lower back and gently raising the soldier of flight in a sitting position. Haruka’s back slumped, head limply rolling forward as if attached on a loose string. As Michiru propped up the pillows against the wall, she felt the muscles in Haruka’s shoulder reanimating again and attempting to stay in the sitting position. Within a second, her upper body began to sway and keel over to the left where most of the bandages weighed her down, if not for the violinist’s steady hand, she would have collapsed again. 

“Haruka, darling.” Michiru’s hand folded over the porridge grey skin of Haruka’s jawbone, raising her head and nearly letting it go when she spotted to spiritless eyes. It didn’t even look like her. A muffled sound vibrated in the shallows of the groggy woman’s throat, morphing into a lethargic grunt. 

“Michi…” Her voice was hardly audible behind the heart monitor and Michiru’s own mind jabbering on its own accord. Not quite holding the same natural husky and fruity tone, probably weak from the lack of speech, or the screaming. 

The doctor entered the room once again, hardly hesitated before invading their space, snatching up a tool on the table and ducking low. Without warning, he flashed a harsh light directly into Haruka’s deeply dilated pupils, her cheek muscles flinching a half a second too late. 

“Don’t!” Michiru half snarled, glaring at the man as she allowed the racer’s head to tilt against her chest. She smoothed down the untidy hair and watched warily as her eyes began to flutter closed again…

“Mrs. Kaioh,” The doctor retorted coolly. “It's part of the procedure. If you can’t cope, maybe I should see you to another room?” While being partly serious, a bored, careless sarcasm embraced every word, immediately putting Michiru in the defensive. 

“No thank you. But if you can’t see how damaged your patient is, maybe you're the one who needs an eye check.” 

The doctor pinched his lips till they turned a hideous shade of yellow, expression to the effect of an eyeroll- possibly because 1. That wasn’t an eye check. 2. Michiru obviously had no knowledge of medical procedures. However, reluctantly, the doctor relented briefly, pacing back to the vitals where the charts slowly began to rise in pace. 

Haruka’s head shifted, her cheek squishing against the supportive palm once clamped gently around the back of her neck. Michiru was able to catch her faint scent from behind the nearly overwhelming sterile stench, musky and protective- so unlike she shattered being swaying lethargically before her very eyes. 

“I told, you…” Haruka’s mellow voice cut directly through any possible distractions, Michiru’s cerulean eyes turning down in concern. The blonde hardly held any sign of emotion, save her voice which cracked almost pathetically. “It hurts. Why did you have to stop me?” She peered up dully, the shorter girl’s heart twisting distantly. Michiru felt the blood drain from her face faster than her heartbeat. There was no good way to answer that question without sounding motherly or cheesy, Haruka probably wouldn’t even remember this conversation after fully waking up. 

“We stopped you because we love you.” Michiru desperately tried to correct. “Especially me, but Setsuna… and Hotaru too. Even Usagi and her friends-” 

Haruka’s mouth dropped slightly, eyes locking stiffly to a wrinkle creasing over her legs as if she couldn't draw herself to face Michiru. “Hotaru?” She murmured in a way barely audible, pain lacing every word. Wincing, Michiru weighed her options.

“Yes, of course. She’s waiting right outside with Setsuna. She missed you so much, both of them, but I really think you should wait to see her until-”

Light flooded back into Haruka’s eyes, a harsh, painful life full of misery and awakening. 

“Hime…” Her strikingly alive voice broke as the conflict of the situation occurred to her, she raised the heavy bulk of bandages and stared solemnly, eyebrows drawn together as she fought for concentration the drugs had robbed. “I dunno, Michi. But I hate it, whatever it is.” At the word ‘hate’ her whole face convulsed something entered her expression wholly unreadable. Without a hesitation, she jerked her head down and used the stiff, almost cast like materials over her arm to curl the fabric tape up that secured the IV in her bare shoulder. Michiru gasped, and the doctor hissed as they stared at that rectangular red splotch that was left. 

As the two left standing swooped in, Haruka crawled over the of the sheets and unsteadily wobbled over the foot of the bed. “Firefly.” Was the only word spoken as Michiru frantically grabbed the blonde around each shoulder and allowed her to fall back into the smaller body. Haruka was barely standing, tall enough for Michiru to feel her tears splatter on the crown of her head as the taller girl silently sobbed.

“I tried to kill her. I killed her.” Haruka choked. Legs giving out, Michiru reflexively scooped two arms beneath each shoulder and guided the trembling girl over to the bed. The doctor fiddled with the IV, carefully plunging a new needle into the supple skin of her shoulder and securing it with medical tape. Michiru couldn’t help but to notice the dark, unsure shadow crossing his face- eyebrows descending and confused glances flitting up at Haruka’s distressed face. 

“Haruka, darling.” Michiru called tentatively. The blonde looked as if she were going to heave at any second, seeing the sallow flush invade her cheeks. “You didn’t. It was all…” As Michiru spoke in her most calming voice, her eyes travelled back up to the doctor who was watching intently. Questions flitted across his face in a nervous dance as he fingered one of the tools on the desk. “...a dream.” She lied, finishing the sentence with a confident finality. The doctor almost looked relieved. 

There was a faint squeak from behind as the door swung forward, a lavender skirted leg sliding through and an urgent tone muffled. 

“I promise, just a minute.” 

Setsuna skilfully slid through the crack as if attempting to let the least amount of outside air in the room, or eager little girls. Michiru scowled slightly, and unconsciously began to tug the thin sheet over the groggy blonde who was perking up at the sight of her comrade. With a sharp intake of breath carefully disguised behind a polite cough, Setsuna’s hardened eyes were locked to the fraying form of Haruka. While Michiru tended to get more emotional towards this sort of things, Setsuna was just as affected, yet became angry rather than tearful. 

“I heard” She stated boldly. “ But I think Hotaru want to tell you something.” With another glimpse at Haruka’s almost bruised-like eyes and swaying stature, she conducted a war of silence. Sanguine red orbs met endless seas, their moment of conflict snapping as Haruka’s clammy hand skittered across the sheets and into Michiru’s stiff fingers, tucking over and giving the best squeeze she could. 

“Michi, it's okay.” She mumbled, head rolling wearily over the pillow. The aqua haired girl nodded briefly towards the time senshi, hating the way her girlfriend’s eyes looked so dead, yet stricken at the same time. Maybe Setsuna was right. Michiru bit her lip as the clipping of heels and door creaking could be heard. Seeing Hotaru alive might be enough.

“Haruka-Papa!” Came a familiar cry from the left. Hotaru came barrelling into the room like a tiny steam engine, only a blur of purple, pale, and black as she dove beneath Setsuna’s arms. Michiru felt a grin creep over her languid visage, disappearing immediately at the sight and sensation of fear clouding either ends. Hotaru stopped abruptly, feet nearly toppling over as she not only halted, but scurried backwards as well. With wide eyes, she stared at her Papa, a million indescribable emotions crossing over one by one. 

Haruka herself did not appear to be faring much better, the heart monitor was now faster than ever and acting almost as a ticking bomb as it beeped rapidly. Legs squirming, fingers pinching, and face as white as the walls- it was an internal struggle beyond anything Michiru could bear. 

“Ahem,” The doctor interrupted, taking Hotaru gently by the shoulders. It was almost a relief. “Can you please escort her out, she is obviously upsetting the patient.” Hotaru’s gaping eyes appearing overwhelmed, as if she half wanted to throw herself on top of her Papa in joyful tears, or run from the room and never lay eyes on the trembling person lay pinned to the bed again. 

Setsuna gingerly plucked up both of his hands and took them off the little girl’s shoulders, protectively guiding her to the side. It looked as if she were about to say something subtly insulting, but was cut off by a low whine. 

“Hime-chan, I’m so sorry. It's okay you're scared cuz’ anyone would be. I’m sorry…” Haruka’s voice split near the middle, it's croak poisoned with shame. Hotaru’s sight travelled from the tubes leading to the blood, IV, and the pulse sensors emerging from the neck of the hospital gown. It then focused on the bandages creeping all the way up to her elbow, remnants of blood staining her flaxen hair. Haruka removed her hand from Michiru’s and pressed what little skin was available over her eyes in disgrace. A now muffled version was emitted, now in a whisper. “I am so sorry.” 

Suddenly, Hotaru broke free of Setsuna's warm grip, edging closer to the senshi of the heavens. Michiru went stiff as the little girl was now within reach, her hand trembling as she laid a hand on Haruka’s elbow. 

“You don't get it, I remember now.” Hotaru wavered. Slowly, she tugged on her Papa's wrapped arm, lowering enough to reveal a teary teal eye twitching in horror. 

“Take a glance at the light of a lantern…”


End file.
